I light cigarettes with an everlasting candle light
while trying to go through a screen to reach the other side
where she is stuck in the middle of a freezing plateau.

Try to sleep but I am waken up by never-ending sounds
which come from nowhere but a corner of my mind
because the silence has gained space in this house
since she took her giggle in the bottom of a suitcase.

Sleeping surronded by Misery and Dawn,
we three wait expectantly for her come back.

___________________________________________________________

Enciendo cigarros con la perpetua luz de una vela
mientras intento traspasar una pantalla hacia el otro lado
donde ella se encuentra atrapada en un gélido páramo.

Intento dormir pero me desvelan sonidos incesantes
que provienen no de otro lugar que un rincón de mi mente
ya que el silencio ha ganado terreno en esta casa
desde que ella se llevó su risa en el fondo de una maleta.

Durmiendo rodeado por la miseria y el amanecer,
los tres aguardamos, expectantes, su regreso.

Pupae

Relentless chases of relativism, a nature given to criticism, my finger in a trigger which pulls my tongue way too fast and an absolute belief that nothing above pulls my strings led me to walk in a path walked by fewer but freer brains.

I never asked for a long time companion in my way and hardly ever expected to listen, see, taste or even smell anything but vulgarity as flies never expect to live more than 30 days and wondered if they ever wished to have remained as maggots as much as I wished not to have experienced some episodes of existence.

Human are the most common pest but they are not seen as such because their suits, make up, big cars, scalpel carved bodies, houses and all superficial artifacts have got to be artful devices to hide decadence.

Now I walk, not longer alone, as you are an answer to my questions.

A piece of art

Step one:

Watch closely and dirt your hands,
stick your nails in your liver
and push up straight to your brain
to pull down every single gut in the way,
spread haemoglobin all over the canvas
name it and frame it in dispair.

Step two:

Read Burroughs, Corso and Ginsberg,
face the restlesness instead of fighting it
and see the logic in uneasiness,
go to the nearest bookshop and steal O'Neill,
buy Albee with a forged million dollar bill
capture their bitterness in ink.

Step three (and last):

Forget the canon, as everything in it
has already been done.

live in frames

Feeling detached from reality opens the golden gates of a new realm based on travelings from your bed to the bathroom, a close up to a cigar while the image sweeps away to a close window, behind which a world is thought to be waiting for you but it goes on and on in perpetuity though.

Open frame to a train station where people come and go, cross without uttering a word and those who open their mouth seem numb, lacking in any ability to interact deeply and are captured in backlighting reverse angle.

Extreme long shots of lives that can't get into details as they are so superficial an extreme close up would show how meaningless they are to anyone but themselves and they fade without leaving any imprint. They wish they were at least supporting actors in the plot of your life but nothing but background is what they become.

Split screens where some scenes are shown in slow motion as others appear to be static shots because the script is unwritten and they lost their lines too long ago trying to be who the audience expects them to, with ridiculous expectations to be awarded for a role that wasn't meant to be performed by them and, in the edditing they got nothing but becoming extra features.

Now is your time...LIGHT, ROLL CAMERA, ACTION. Let me see your point of view.

GAME (v-s- -ges o-f r- -n-)

No excuses anymore,
The truth has been perverted
to a game played in a chess
Where the pieces have died
For too long.
Who's the Bishop in the board?
While the pawns fall time after time,
Archbishops spread their word
Concubines of death
Fiances of despair
Sketch a smile on their face.
Crawl in the darkness,
Smile with borrowed anger
Slap the disguise of an “ego”,
Ghastly reflections in the mirror
Feeling loneliness in all this nonsense
Filling emptiness with indifference
Feeling gaps, filling eyes
with the tears I can’t cry.

Alternative points of view

I'll edit what eyes never captured,
write down words nobody said,
create sets that were only shadows,
share what once was only in my brain.

She'll dirt her fingers in the process
of creating what only paint can show,
nightmares, dreams and reality gathered
giving live to a fake oniric world.

Then, we will let ourselves go
the white screen will burn,
the paints will mix and turn,
and so, the rules of real will drown.

Turn Left

The times were thought to be a changing, well, they changed for worst. The revolutions in whispers were so quiet that nobody paid attention. Thomas Moore got behaded, Tom Joad did'nt find his way to California, the 70's were diluted in LSD, the 90's gave birth to a consumer generation that makes the 80's look like the 30's. Being brainwashed seems trendy while commitment is labled as utopian.

There are so many broken dreams along history that one minute silence is the best tribute we could pay.